


let's swallow the moon and the stars, let's wallow just right where we are

by trashmage



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (almost) caught in the act, Billy has a crush ok just let him LIVE gosh, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Drunk Blow Jobs, Drunken Confessions, Gay Billy Hargrove, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Shotgunning, Soft Billy Hargrove, Steve and Billy get high at a party, choking kink? sorta??, choking on dick anyway eeeyy, what are tags and how do???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21848476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashmage/pseuds/trashmage
Summary: “Yeah, lucky me,” Billy agrees smugly, leaning himself up against the wall and getting comfortable. “You’re cute when you’re high, prettyboy.”“And you’re actually not a total asshole when you’re about to get your dick sucked,” Steve replies, dropping to his knees in front of Billy. A little too hard, and he’ll probably have a bruise or two tomorrow, but he doesn’t really feel it right now, so, whatever. “Who’d’ve thought?”“Shut up and blow me,Steve.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 7
Kudos: 196
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2019





	let's swallow the moon and the stars, let's wallow just right where we are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sunwarmed_Ash_tree_and_the_dreaming_Stag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunwarmed_Ash_tree_and_the_dreaming_Stag/gifts).

> This didn't turn out quite how I planned but I hope it meets your expectations, or at least doesn't disappoint! I tried to include as many of the tropes/kinks you listed as I could without anything feeling forced or out of place, and I definitely had fun with it. :)
> 
> Also, shout-out to [dawnofmandanceparty](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/dawnofmandanceparty) for being a fantastic beta!
> 
> Title from ['When We're High'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lfkgOWrd1vc) by LP. Which is great, and has one of the gayest music videos I've ever seen in my life, and y'all should definitely check it out.

In all honesty, Steve doesn’t know _why_ he came to this party. He and Tommy aren’t friends anymore, and he’s barely popular these days beyond how everyone still seems to love talking about his so-called ‘fall from grace.’ But, it’s not like he has anything better to do on a Friday night.

Plus, he’d been invited. For whatever reason. Probably not a nice one, but he’s bored enough to not give a shit. It’s been a hard lesson to learn not to care so much about what people think of him, but Steve is learning. Now that he’s faced _real_ problems - problems like _monsters_ and _almost dying_ \- high school popularity doesn’t seem to matter anymore. What does matter is that there’s free booze, and enough people around that he doesn’t have to feel so isolated and alone for at least one night.

That alone is worth having to deal with Tommy’s shit.

Luckily for Steve, by the time he arrives (fashionably late, of course), his former friend is already too drunk to pay much attention to him one way or another. And too busy trying to eat Carol’s face, by the looks of it.

Mostly everyone else ignores him too, aside from a few greetings, and that suits Steve just fine. He’s just here for the alcohol and the noise anyway, and there’s plenty of both.

Eventually he starts to feel a little sad and pathetic just camping out by the punch bowl, even if he’s not the only one, and he weaves through the crowds of people to slip out the back door. It’s surprising that no one else is out here, considering it’s a pretty nice night for mid-December: chilly, but not windy, and there’s no snow. Just a bit of frost on the ground, making it glisten and sparkle in the dim light from the bulb above the door and what little streams through the windows facing this side of the property. Steve can still hear the music and the muffled sound of chatter and the occasional cheering from inside, and there’s an owl somewhere in the distance. It’s peaceful, in an odd sort of way.

He leans up against the wall next to the door and pulls out a joint from his jacket pocket. The buzz of alcohol works well enough, but it’s fucking _depressing_ and that’s not what Steve’s going for, so he lights up and inhales until his lungs burn. And then he does it again.

It’s not long before the door opens again, and none other than Billy Hargrove walks out after him, unlit joint between his lips and lighter in hand. He pauses when he sees Steve standing there, then gives a slight nod of acknowledgement and moves to lean up against the side of the house, almost mirroring Steve.

“That one of Tommy’s?” Steve finds himself asking, because it’s better than the two of them just… standing there on opposite sides of the door, in awkward silence.

“Yeah,” comes Billy’s answer, voice gruff. He still hasn’t lit up, because now he’s just... staring. At Steve.

Steve makes a face at the confirmation, because he may not _like_ Hargrove but it’s a tragedy for anyone (except maybe Tommy himself) to be smoking that garbage. “Gross. Tommy wouldn’t know good weed if it hit him in the face.” He holds his own joint out, a silent offer for a truce, at least for this one night. “C’mere. Try this.”

Surprisingly, Billy does. Pushes off from the wall like it’s a chore to do so, but he does it, and their fingers brush for the briefest moment when he reaches up to take the joint from Steve’s hand. “Damn,” he says once he’s taken a hit, and then the asshole throws etiquette out the window and takes _another_ without passing it back first. “Pretty good shit. Almost as good as what we got back in California.”

Coming from Billy, Steve will take that as a compliment.

“Of course it is. I have _standards_."

Though they’re apparently not high enough to keep him from standing in his ex best friend’s backyard, sharing a joint with the guy who beat the shit out of him just a little over a month ago. Billy must be having a similar thought, because he just snorts humorlessly. Says, “Sure you do,” and passes the joint back.

They keep at it for a while after that, in silence, aside from the heavy bass pumping from within the house. When the first joint burns down to nothing, Billy tosses it on the ground and Steve wordlessly produces a second one. He lets Billy light this one, lets him have the first hit, and it’s… pleasant, almost. _Weird_, but pleasant.

“You got a real pretty mouth, Harrington,” Billy murmurs eventually, and either it’s really quiet or Steve is already much higher than he’d thought, because he almost doesn’t hear it. Isn’t even entirely sure that he _did_ hear it until he looks up to find Billy watching him - watching his _mouth_, rather, lips still pursed around the joint - and Billy adds, “Makes me wonder what else it can do.”

Okay, that’s definitely a come-on. There’s no _way_ that’s not a come-on, and it leaves Steve floundering a little; not because he’s not interested, because Billy is _hot_ and it would take a fool not to realize that, but because it’s one of the last things he would ever expect from Billy Hargrove.

“Uh… lots of things,” he answers lamely, after too long a silence. The joint nearly falling from his lips in the process.

Billy grins, sharp, a little predatory. “Yeah?”

Fuck it. He’s high, and still a little drunk, and he’s faced far scarier things than _talking to cute boys_, even ones named Billy Hargrove. So Steve takes another puff, filling his lungs as much as he can stand to. When he takes the joint from his mouth, his other hand reaches out to fist in the front of Billy’s shirt and pull him in close, and for a moment he thinks maybe he sees Billy’s grin _widen_ before he’s pressing their mouths together and breathing out. He can hear Billy breathing in deep, inhaling the smoke Steve is sharing with him, and _fuck_ that’s really fucking hot.

Eventually he runs out of air and has to pull away, and he does so with regret. Immediately brings the joint back up, takes another hit. Says, “That’s one thing,” like he’s not affected by it at all.

(He is.)

Billy’s watching him with one eyebrow raised, like he’s evaluating Steve, or something. He reaches out and plucks the joint from Steve’s fingers, takes another hit for himself, and blows the smoke back in Steve’s face. It feels like a mockery of what Steve had just done, but Steve is too high to be bothered by it. “Yeah, just _one_,” he replies. “I feel like you’re holding out on me here, Harrington.”

Steve just shrugs, steals the joint back.

Part of it is just that he’s horny, and _lonely_, and he hasn’t gotten laid since he and Nancy broke up. But part of it is also that he just wants to see how much Billy will let him get away with, now that they’ve found themselves here. And Steve has indulged in enough substances tonight that just about every bad idea looks like a good one. So he doesn’t let himself think it through too much before he says, at least a full five minutes later, “I could suck you off.”

This time it’s Billy’s turn to look like he’s not sure he’s heard right, at a loss. It doesn’t last long, and suddenly he looks tense, wary. “That shit’s not funny, Harrington.”

If Steve were sober, this would be where he’d back out, or at least be _concerned_. But he’s not. “Not supposed to be funny, since I’m not joking. But you’re gonna have to learn to use my _name_ if you wanna know what else my mouth can do.”

There’s another long moment of silence, though not as long as the previous one. And Billy looks… not at all mad, like Steve might’ve expected. There’s no disgust, no streak of meanness that might suggest Billy will use this moment against him later. There’s only _surprise_, and - if it were anyone else, anyone but Billy, Steve thinks - maybe even a hint of vulnerability.

That doesn’t last, either.

It's slow, so slow, but the grin returns. “All right, Stevie,” Billy says, because he’s a piece of _shit_, but it’s close enough. “And here I thought you were straight as a ruler, but I’m not about to complain.”

Steve rolls his eyes, giving a little shake of his head as he steps away from the door, beckoning Billy after him. He’s not about to do this right here, where anyone can walk out and see them, and leads Billy just a few metres away, to the small patch of garden near the kitchen window. Tommy’s mom has always tended it well, and the shrubs are high and bushy enough even in winter that if Steve is on his knees behind them, no one will see him. They’ll just see Billy leaning against the side of the house, smoking a joint. Nothing to raise any eyebrows at.

“Yeah, well bisexuality’s not exactly something you go advertising around here,” he shoots back. “Unless you’re high, apparently. And I am… very, very high right now. Lucky you.”

“Yeah, lucky me,” Billy agrees smugly, leaning himself up against the wall and getting comfortable. “You’re cute when you’re high, prettyboy.”

“And you’re actually not a total asshole when you’re about to get your dick sucked,” Steve replies, dropping to his knees in front of Billy. A little too hard, and he’ll probably have a bruise or two tomorrow, but he doesn’t really feel it right now, so, whatever. “Who’d’ve thought?”

“Shut up and blow me, _Steve_.”

Steve barks a laugh at that, but he doesn’t keep Billy waiting. He’s impatient too, and honestly he’s still not entirely convinced that this is actually happening. It’s too surreal. Maybe, instead of popping the button on Billy’s jeans and pulling down the zipper, he’s actually passed out drunk somewhere and this is all just a dream. A _weird_, good dream.

Then Billy’s fingers push back through his hair and grip tight, and Steve knows he’s not dreaming.

His own dick twitches in the confines of his jeans and he has to bite back a groan, impatiently reaching into Billy’s pants - of _course_ he’s going commando, _Jesus_ \- and pulling out his cock. Steve’s seen it before, of course, in the locker room after basketball practice, but he hasn’t really _looked_. Has tried not to, anyway. Now he’s definitely looking, and though Billy’s only halfway hard, Steve can already tell this is gonna be a workout for his jaw.

Whatever, challenge accepted.

Billy tightens his grip in Steve’s hair and urges his head closer, impatient, and Steve has to roll his eyes because of _course_ Billy wouldn’t be gentle about this. Not that Steve even wants him to be, but _still_.

Steve flips Billy off with his free hand while he adjusts his grip, spitting into his palm, and then he lowers his head and licks from base to tip, smirking a little at the low groan Billy lets out. The pressure on his hair lessens a bit, which is a relief and a damn shame all at once. Closing his eyes, he pulls back the foreskin and closes his mouth around the head, swiping his tongue over the slit, and it does the trick; Billy gets the hint, starts pulling on his hair again, a mild but consistent pressure.

It’s been a good long while since Steve has given head, but it’s not the sort of skill you just forget. Half of it is muscle memory, and the other half is just plain old enthusiasm, because he _enjoys_ what he’s doing. And Billy seems to be enjoying it too, if his reactions are anything to go by; the slight twitch of his hips, the groan that escapes him when Steve takes him even deeper and _sucks_.

“Fuck-- just like that, baby,” he encourages, his voice dropping low, and Steve can feel him hardening further in his mouth. “Knew that mouth was good for something other than talkin’ shit.”

Steve snorts a laugh at that, which comes out sounding _weird_ with his mouth full the way it is, but they’re both too distracted to give a shit. He redoubles his efforts, wondering if maybe it’ll get Billy to _stop talking_ for once. Not likely. He starts to pump his hand, stimulating whatever’s not in his mouth yet, as he pulls back to suck on the head some more, enjoying the weight of it on his tongue.

A minute later and he’s just started bobbing his head, hand shifting down to massage at Billy’s balls, when he hears the sound of the door opening. At first Steve ignores it, unconcerned and focused only on his task, until he hears Tommy’s voice saying, “There you are!”

Steve freezes, even though he knows Tommy can’t see him, and tries to pull back and off-- but Billy’s hand stops him. No longer fisting in his hair but instead cupping the back of his head, Billy pushes Steve back down _down_, until Steve’s jaw is stretched wide and he can feel the head of Billy’s cock nudging at the entrance to his throat. He doesn’t quite panic, because he can still _breathe_, but barely. Not much, not enough to last like this for long. He wonders just what Billy’s playing at, the booze and weed in his system making him slow to realize that the other boy’s probably _into_ this. Being so close to getting caught.

The way Billy’s dick twitches a moment later only confirms it.

“It was getting too warm in there, so I stepped out,” he says to Tommy, and Steve thinks it’s fucking _unfair_ how composed he sounds. No one would ever guess what’s going on here, from the sound of him.

“Yeah, yeah, for sure,” Tommy agrees. “Hey, whatcha smoking? Can I get a--”

“No,” Billy cuts him off, firm and leaving no room for argument.

Of course, Tommy sounds drunk off his ass, so he doesn’t get that memo. “Aw c’mon, just one hit!”

“I said _no_, Hagan,” Billy snaps, and he punctuates it with a slow roll of his hips, just for Steve’s benefit, which Steve only barely manages not to moan in response to. Asshole. “Now fuck off.”

And because Tommy is a little bitch, even at his own house at his own goddamn party-- he does. Just because Billy said so. _God._ Not that Steve is complaining in the slightest, because it’s only once he leaves that Billy lets up, lets _him_ up, and Steve pulls back with a shuddering gasp, his lungs burning as the oxygen rushes in.

“What the _fuck_, man?” he hisses, and yeah, yep, he definitely _sounds_ like he’s just had a throat full of dick. Great. That’s just wonderful. Maybe he can blame the weed if anyone asks. “I couldn’t _breathe._”

“You say that like I can’t see the bulge in your jeans.”

And he’s right, fuck. Steve is so painfully hard it’s embarrassing, and nearly choking on Billy’s dick had only made it worse. “Shut up,” he retorts, because there’s nothing he can say to defend himself. Instead of even trying, he quickly undoes his own jeans and shoves a hand down the front of his trousers, moaning in relief as his fingers wrap around his cock, and his forehead drops to rest on Billy’s thigh.

“Nuh uh, prettyboy,” Billy says, and there’s another tug on his hair, guiding his head back up. “Mouth up here.”

Steve groans, in arousal as much as exasperation, but back up he goes.

He starts to bob his head again but Billy stops him, both hands going to either side of Steve’s head and holding it still as he starts to move his hips, fucking into Steve’s mouth instead. He’s surprisingly gentle about it, and Steve knows better than to question it even if he could, so he just… lets him. Keeps his jaw loose and open wide, and focuses on keeping his teeth out of the way.

When he dares to open his eyes a minute or so later (could be more, could be less; he’s so _high_ that time has stopped being real, honestly), he finds Billy staring right back at him, eyes fixed on his face, expression _intense_ but not in a bad way. Steve can’t really read it, and he isn’t going to try, but he can’t make himself look away or close his eyes again now that they’ve made eye contact, and it should be _weird_ or _uncomfortable_ but it’s not, and--

There’s no warning when Billy comes. Just a low moan half a second before he spills down Steve’s throat, and Steve has no choice but to swallow. Honestly, he might’ve anyway.

Billy looks _flushed_. It’s a good look on him. Steve’s sure he’s not much better off, considering how warm his face feels, and it only gets worse when Billy’s thumbs stroke over his cheekbones lightly, just before he lets go, lets his softening cock slip from Steve’s mouth. He’s still got that weird look on his face though, when he looks at Steve, and now it’s starting to _bug_ Steve, but before he can go and open his mouth about it--

“C’mere,” Billy says gruffly, and he reaches down to grab Steve’s arms, pull his hand out of his pants, pull him _up_ onto shaky legs-- And then he’s turning them around, leaning Steve against the side of the house and stepping right into his space and shoving _his_ hand down into Steve’s pants, and oh, _fuck_.

Fuck.

It doesn’t take much, honestly. Just a few strokes of Billy’s hand and Steve is coming in his pants. (_‘Don’t cream your pants,’_ he’d told Billy, once upon a time, and it feels like forever ago.) It’d be embarrassing if Steve weren’t already well past caring. He leans heavily against the wall, Billy’s thigh shoved in between his own and helping him stay upright more than he’d like to admit, as he catches his breath. Which isn’t easy to do when he suddenly starts laughing, because Billy’s gone and wiped his hand off on the _side of Tommy’s house_, leaving a wet, white smear behind.

“You’re _disgusting_,” he accuses, still laughing, and it shouldn’t be as funny as it is but fuck him, he’s stoned and still reeling a little from his orgasm.

“You like it,” Billy shoots back.

And because Steve is an idiot with absolutely zero brain-to-mouth filter right now, he says, “Yeah, kinda. You’re not so bad when you’re not going out of your way to be a dick.”

The weird look is back on Billy’s face, and Steve _doesn’t like it_ because he doesn’t know what it _means_. It takes so long for Billy to respond that Steve starts to think he’s not going to, but then he’s reaching up with his clean hand, brushing a thumb over Steve’s cheek again. “...You know I only give you shit because I wanted to get in your pants, right?”

Steve laughs again, not because it’s funny but because he’s surprised. Because _what_? “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve’s not really sure what to do with this information. He knows this was probably a bad idea, and doing it again is undoubtedly an even _worse_ idea, but still-- “So we should totally do this again, is what you’re saying.”

It’s Billy’s turn to laugh this time, and Steve hadn’t even realized how much tension he’d been holding in his shoulders until he sees them lower and relax suddenly. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m saying.”

“Sober, next time,” Steve insists.

Billy grins again, and for once it’s not mean, not sharp, not predatory. Just… eager, maybe.

“Sure thing, prettyboy.”


End file.
